


Message in a Bottle

by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying



Series: Collaborations [83]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Beast, Angst, Emotion Bottle Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Violence, Psychological Trauma, Substance Abuse, Trauma, he got really fucked up, post-Brakebills, so I'm tagging everything I can think of to be sure, there's not really one single tag for what Eliot went through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23279608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: Margo taps a pen against her lips thoughtfully as she studies the paperwork before her. Resumes and construction reports are scattered across her desk. The bar of her new resort is nearly completed, and needs someone to staff it, but... Well, quite frankly none of the applicants stand out in anygoodway. There are a few whose resumes were immediately discarded, but that still left an overwhelming number ofunderwhelmingapplicants.A glance at her phone makes Margo pause. She eyes it for a moment before deciding that she has nothing to lose, and picks it up, dialing a number she knows by heart and waiting for the other person to pick up.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Collaborations [83]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/41362
Comments: 7
Kudos: 106





	Message in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! Fair warning, there is some frank discussion of Eliot's past later on, roughly 3/4 of the way through - once you hit the murder mystery night, brace yourself for Eliot tripping and falling against a wall, because that's where things get the roughest. I couldn't think of any tags to use, hence the liberal tagging above, as well as "Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings", because Graphic Violence didn't really fit, neither did Rape/Non-Con....
> 
> So, consider this a blanket warning: You know Eliot's s1 trauma with the emotion bottles and Mike? Dial that up to 11 for this fic.

Margo taps a pen against her lips thoughtfully as she studies the paperwork before her. Resumes and construction reports are scattered across her desk. The bar of her new resort is nearly completed, and needs someone to staff it, but... Well, quite frankly none of the applicants stand out in any _good_ way. There are a few whose resumes were immediately discarded, but that still left an overwhelming number of _underwhelming_ applicants.

A glance at her phone makes Margo pause. She eyes it for a moment before deciding that she has nothing to lose, and picks it up, dialing a number she knows by heart and waiting for the other person to pick up.

The call almost rings out before it's answered, but then Margo hears the warm voice of her best friend. "Margo. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"El," Margo says, unable to hide the brief note of relief in her voice that he actually picked up. "I'm afraid this isn't just a call to catch up. I... Well, I have a proposition for you."

"What is it?" Eliot asks, short and to the point.

Margo doesn't take Eliot's bluntness to heart. "How would you like to have a bar of your own to run?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I need someone to run the bar here in my resort, and... Well," Margo sighs, "none of the applicants are any kind of confidence-inspiring."

"So I'm your last resort?" Eliot asks mildly. "What's involved?"

"You never really seemed very interested in coming back up to New York, or in my resort, but I only just started looking at applicants," Margo points out. "The bar's nearly finished being built, it's just off of the lobby and main restaurant here. You'd have total control over the bar, a budget for supplies every week, and could even hire your own servers. Basically, the bar would be _yours_."

"I have a job," Eliot points out. "Commitments here in Philadelphia. It's pretty selfish, asking me to drop everything and move to New York because you're bored of the hiring process."

"You know I've always been a little selfish," Margo laughs. "Just - Think about it? The Hanson doesn't open for another six weeks, so you have some time to decide."

"No," Eliot says. "I don't need to. Why not? I have nothing better to do."

"Well, you could sound a _little_ more enthusiastic," Margo teases. "But seriously, I've missed you, being all the way down there in Philly. Let me know your travel plans, okay, sweetie?"

"Of course," Eliot agrees. "Goodbye, Margo."

"Bye, El."

* * *

"Hey, careful!"

"Oh, sorry, man, I didn't see you."

Quentin squints at the guy in front of him, huffing. "Alright, fine, but - I really need to get these into the dining room, so..."

"Oh!" The man scurries out of the way, and Quentin rolls his eyes, balancing the box in his hands carefully as he steps out of the service elevator, Julia behind him with the cart bearing a large cake.

"You've gotten a lot meaner since you became a baker," Julia laughs, clearly teasing. "I thought spending time around all that sugar would've only made you sweeter."

"It's still retail, Jules," Quentin says dryly, beelining for the table Margo had pointed out for his goods, already laden with cupcakes, eclairs, rolls, and several smaller cakes. "And retail is hell - not that you'd know, since you went right back to Brakebills."

Julia sticks her tongue out at Quentin before throwing out a quick, precise tut to lift the cake from the cart to the table. "Well, that's the last trip. I'm going to look around, do you want to come with me?"

Quentin shakes his head, grabbing a napkin and wiping at his brow. "I'm going to double check things here, I think. I'll catch up with you later, though?"

Julia smiles, stepping in to press a kiss to his cheek before she wanders off. Quentin stays by the table, fussing a bit with the presentation before he finally makes himself stop. He's seen the dining room and the kitchen already, and hadn't even been mad at Margo for laughing at how absolutely thrown he had been by the sheer _opulence_ of the place. No expense had been spared, and Margo has been running herself ragged making sure everything is in order for tonight's opening. They're nearly completely booked for this weekend, and every amenity that has appointments available _is_ fully booked - and even has a waiting list started. 

Quentin wanders through the dining room and the main lobby first, taking in the decor before he notices that the bar is already bustling, servers setting up tables and booths, rows upon rows of various types of alcohol lining the wall behind the bartop, and - 

Quentin pauses, blinks, and then steps through the doorway into the bar, but... What he's seeing doesn't change. Behind the bar, wiping down a glass, is Eliot. Quentin feels a smile break across his face, and carefully weaves through the tables, approaching the bar. "Hey, stranger," he says once he's in earshot. "Long time, no see."

If Eliot is as surprised to see him as Quentin is, it barely shows on his face. His eyebrows go up slightly, his eyes widen just a little, but then his expression relaxes back into neutral. "Quentin," he says. "What are you doing here?"

"Margo hired me to cater baked goods for tonight," Quentin answers, sliding onto one of the stools. "She didn't say you were back in town."

Eliot smiles. "Only as of a couple of weeks ago," he says. "Margo hired me to be the bar manager. Are you a caterer now?"

Quentin laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, not usually? I'm a baker, I own a small place in Queens. I did this as a favor to Margo."

"A baker?" Eliot hums, and returns the glass in his hand to its rightful place. "Interesting. And how's Alice?"

"She's doing well," Quentin answers. "Still working as a professor at Brakebills. It keeps her busy."

Eliot nods. "Any wedding bells in the future?"

Quentin blinks before he laughs, slightly awkward. "Oh! Uh, no, there's no - We haven't been together for almost a year now," he says. "I mean, we still live together, because we're good roommates, but we aren't _together_."

This gets a reaction out of Eliot, but only a small one. He blinks, takes a moment, and says, "Oh. I guess I've been out of the loop for quite a while."

"The perils of adult life," Quentin says with a laugh. "But you're back now, right?"

Eliot gives him a placid smile. "It seems so."

There’s more noise coming from the lobby now, and Quentin glances over to see more people than there’d been even a few minutes ago. He sighs and turns back to give Eliot a smile and make his goodbyes, promising to catch up with Eliot later, and makes his way back to the dining room.

* * *

The dinner goes off without a hitch, and Quentin doesn’t hear a single negative thing from any of the guests as he wanders around afterwards. Everyone seems utterly taken with the decor that Margo had chosen and with the amenities offered - the bar and restaurant, of course, but also a full-service spa, indoor _and_ outdoor pools and hot tubs, a ‘wellness center’ with more equipment than Quentin can name and trainers and instructors to help guests, and a concierge desk to help guests make their bookings for any other events they want to attend.

Margo eventually finds him with Julia by the nearly-empty food tables, and Quentin can’t help but grin at the way Margo is practically _glowing_ with excitement. “Guess you’ve heard all the great reviews, too, huh?”

"I mean, I'm not surprised," Margo says breezily, "but I am delighted." She grins. "Are you two having a good night?"

"Very good," Julia says with a laugh, lifting the drink in her hand in a casual toast.

"Almost like the old Cottage parties," Quentin agrees, chuckling. "Except more sophisticated."

"Don't let Eliot hear you say that," Margo laughs. "I'm assuming you heard I got him on board."

Quentin smiles. "I did; it was good to see him again."

"I bet it was," Margo says, practically flaying Quentin alive with a single flick of her gaze. "It didn't even take half as much persuading as I thought it would." She gives him a sweet smile. "Now all I need is to convince you to join us and I'll have the full set."

Quentin laughs. "Until you get Julia, Alice, Penny, and Kady on board, it won't be the _full_ set," he snickers. "And I told you, I like my little shop. It's nice, and I don't have to deal with huge orders like this - " He gestures at the food table " - all the time."

"We could bring you in, though, on bigger events," Margo says. "Please? You're so good, and everyone is obsessed with your cakes. And we're already raking it in. Within a few months we'll be able to pay you double what we're paying you tonight. Besides," she gives him a sharp look, and Quentin knows that whatever she says next will be the killing shot, "I'd love it if I got to see you more. I know El would, too."

Quentin groans in mock frustration. "How do I always manage to forget you fight dirty," he complains. "Alright, _fine_ \- I'll bake for the big events."

Margo brightens considerably. "Yay," she says. "Drinks on the house for the rest of the night - if they weren't already, I forget. Go, mingle, get drunk. But not so drunk you fuckin' embarrass me, yeah? Get the fuck out of my sight, both of you."

”Rude,” Julia says without a single hint of heat. “Come on, then, Q, let’s go celebrate the massive paydays in your future.”

* * *

Life settles back to normal incredibly fast after that party, but now Quentin talks with Margo and Eliot more often than he has since the first year after they graduated, before Eliot moved to Philadelphia and Margo sweet-talked Alice’s aunt Genji into mentoring her in the art of managing a magical resort. They talk through text, but even that’s enough to soothe some ache that Quentin hadn’t even realized he still felt.

A few weeks later finds him back at the Hanson, hanging out at the bar with Margo and Eliot. He and Margo are seated at stools on the end, and Eliot is lounging against the bar across from them, watching the other bartenders and servers handle the few customers hanging around between dinner and prime drinking time. “So, business still doing well?” Quentin asks, picking at the last few fries on his plate.

”Oh, booming,” Margo smirks, lifting her martini to take a sip. “We’re still booked full, and the dates keep moving back. Full up until April, now. And that’s not even counting all of the people who just stop in for the food and drinks.”

"We're making a lot of money," Eliot offers. "Not that I expected anything else."

"Sounds like you're keeping busy," Quentin says with a smile. "How've you been settling back into the New York life?"

Eliot shrugs. "Fine," he says. "It's like I never left."

"Have you just been working?" Quentin asks. "Gone anywhere fun?"

"Not really," Eliot says. "Margo keeps calling me a workaholic." He hesitates and then glances at Quentin. "What have you been up to lately?"

Quentin laughs sheepishly. "Working," he admits. "I, um. Just hired another baker, though - It's Josh, actually. He got back from France, stopped in, and I offered him a job. Do you... I mean, we should hang sometimes. Keep each other from working ourselves to death?"

Eliot smiles. "That would be nice."

* * *

Quentin and Eliot text back and forth for a few days, trying to find a time to get together before they finally settle on Tuesday night. Josh offers to bring some of the good stuff, and Quentin invites him to stay for a while.

Quentin makes an easy dinner, a pot roast that he basically just throws together in the crockpot and leaves to cook all day long - _after_ he triple-checks to make sure that the crockpot itself is plugged in. By the time they close, Quentin is beyond ready for a night to just… _relax._ He and Josh retreat upstairs to the apartment that Quentin lives in, and Josh promptly makes himself at home while Quentin checks the roast, humming in satisfaction at the smell. **Dinner’s almost ready. You on your way?** Quentin texts, throttling back the nerves that threaten to rise and choke him. It’s too late for them.

The reply comes in a few minutes later. **I’m outside.**

Quentin hustles to the door, pulling it open and giving Eliot a smile. "Hey, come on in. Josh is just getting his, uh. Whatever the fuck it is he brought tonight set up."

"Oh," Eliot says, looking awkward. "Um. I don't exactly partake, anymore."

Quentin blinks. "Oh. Are you - okay to be around it, or should I tell Josh to put it away?" he asks, concern clear in his voice as he steps to the side to give Eliot room to come in. 

"No," Eliot says, stepping smartly over the threshold. "It's fine. It doesn't bother me."

Quentin quietly closes the door behind Eliot. "Well, just - let us know if that changes," he says, giving Eliot a small, reassuring smile. "You can put your shoes here, no need to keep them on all night. Do you want something to drink?"

Eliot obediently toes off his shoes and offers Quentin a smile as he follows him further into the apartment. "Just water, please," he says. "Hey, Josh."

Josh waves a hand from where he's busy fussing with the bong on the living room table. "Hey, man, it's good to see you. Heard you aren't gonna partake, so I'll keep the more extreme shit away. Even secondhand smoke can fuck you up with those." He gives Eliot a grin before refocusing his attention, and Quentin lightly touches Eliot's arm. 

"Kitchen's right through here, bathroom is down the hall on the left," he says. "Let me grab you that water, then the roast will probably be done."

Eliot thanks Quentin with a smile and takes the seat furthest from Josh, nearest to the door. He looks at his hands for a moment and then asks, "So. How's life?"

"Busy," Quentin says with a wry laugh. "Even with two of us running the shop."

"That's good, though," Eliot says. "You're making money."

"And we can't live without money," Quentin agrees with a heavy sigh.

"Certainly can't get the fun stuff without it," Josh says cheerfully. "We didn't come here tonight to talk about our jobs, though! What were you up to down in Philly, Eliot?"

Eliot gives him a wry smile. "Working," he says. "I was managing a bar there, too."

"Still living that Cottage King life?" Josh asks with a grin. Then he pauses. "Wait, I... probably shouldn't talk about that?"

Eliot waves a hand. "Don't worry about it," he says. "It's not that deep, Hoberman."

Josh nods, looking reassured, and Quentin pokes his head into the living room. "All right, roast is ready," he says, beckoning for them to come into the kitchen. "Alice is staying late tonight, she just texted me. She and Jules are working in a research project, which means they'll probably be there all night." This last is said with a fond shake of his head. "Plates are here in this cabinet, silverware in this drawer."

Eliot goes for the plates while Josh grabs the cutlery. "I didn't know Julia was still in New York," he offers.

"Only for this week," Quentin explains. "She and Alice are working on something that frankly goes over my head. Julia's picking up some materials from Brakebills' library, and going over what she's found in... Christ, she's been all over Europe, I'm not sure where she's coming from this time." Quentin shakes his head with a grin. 

"That's great, though," Eliot offers. "We're all expanding our horizons. Very exciting."

"Some of us more than others," Josh hums, spearing a potato on his plate as he sits down. "Oh, holy _Jesus,_ Quentin, I am not gay in the least but I will blow you every day for a year for the recipe."

Quentin rolls his eyes, laughing. "Top secret family recipe, sorry," he says with a smirk. "Would take more than _one_ year of blowjobs to get it out of me." He turns to Eliot then, expression slightly nervous. "What do you think?" 

Eliot gives him a smile. "It's good," he says. "It's great, Quentin, thank you."

Quentin’s smile relaxes in answer to Eliot’s own. “Great, well, dig in. There’s plenty to go around.”

They spend a few hours together, catching up with each other’s stories from the past few years. At some point they migrate from the kitchen back to the living room, where the bong doesn’t get as much use as Josh undoubtedly originally thought it would. Still, the three of them manage to have a good time without an overuse of drugs, and Quentin’s in a good mood even after Josh and Eliot leave. He’s busy washing dishes when Julia and Alice finally come in, and spares a glance at the clock. “Almost one o’clock in the morning,” he calls from the kitchen, clearly teasing. “You might as well have camped out in the library.”

"But then you wouldn't have seen my beautiful face at all today," Julia calls back, laughing as she comes into the kitchen. "And then you'd be so sad."

"Well, you've got me there," Quentin says with a laugh, wiping his hands on a dishtowel so he can draw Julia in for a tight hug. "There's leftover roast if you two want some."

"Thanks, Q," Alice murmurs, moving past them to get to the food.

Julia is still attached to Quentin, and she nods at Alice over his shoulder when she turns to see if she wants any. "Did you have a good night?" she asks.

"We did," Quentin hums, still keeping his arms around Julia; he's missed her the past several months since her last visit. Video calls just aren't the same. "Didn't use up all of Josh's supply, though, so he went to some other friend's party since he's off tomorrow. Eliot's going sober."

Quentin feels Julia's surprise in the way her body tenses for a moment. "Eliot? Sober?" She huffs a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Quentin says. "He didn't touch anything, and I haven't seen him with any drinks, either."

"Shit," Julia says. "Is he okay?"

"He seemed okay," Quentin muses. "Same as he has any other time I've seen him? I think he decided to go sober before he came back to New York."

Julia does pull back, then, to search Quentin's face. "Are you okay?"

Quentin gives Julia a genuine, if small, smile. "I am. It's different, but... It's also been five years."

Alice gives a soft cough. "Dinner's ready."

Quentin gives Julia another smile and leans in to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'm just about wiped, but if you want to watch some shit reality TV, I've got another hour or so in me."

"Sounds good to me," Julia agrees. She peers around Quentin. "Alice?"

But Alice just shakes her head. "I'm exhausted," she says. "I'm just going to take this to my room. Have a good night."

Quentin and Julia echo the wish, and Quentin waits until Alice's door shuts before he turns back to Julia. "Is everything okay with her?"

"She's fine," Julia assures him. "It's just weird, y'know?"

"Um... no," Quentin says slowly, frowning. "What's weird?"

"Quentin," Julia says, fond amusement in her eyes. "Eliot has been AWOL for five years. Don't you think it might be strange for Alice that you're suddenly talking to him again?"

"I mean, it's strange for _everyone,_ " Quentin points out. "The only one he regularly talked to was Margo, but even that was hit-and-miss."

"But can you see why it might be strange for _Alice?_ " Julia presses.

"Obviously not," Quentin says, equal parts confused and amused. 

Julia shakes her head. "Oh, Q. You're impossible."

"So I've been told - multiple times, including by Alice," Quentin laughs. "I've been catching up with an old friend who went AWOL, I don't see what you're getting at, Jules."

Julia gives him a pointed look. "An old friend you cheated on her with," she says. "An old friend you definitely still had feelings for even while you were dating, at least at first."

With the way his mouth opens and closes, Quentin almost looks like a fish. " _Oh,_ " he finally breathes, eyes wide. "Oh. Shit. That - That never even crossed my mind." He glances towards Alice's closed door, biting his lip. "We broke up a year ago, though. And it's been seven years since..."

Julia's expression softens. "I know," she says. "And I'm sure it's not really a big deal. But it's still a sore point, and neither of you have really dated anyone since you broke up."

Quentin nods. "Yeah, you're right," he says quietly. "Do you... think I should talk to her?"

Julia actually laughs at him. "No," she says. "You're sweet and you mean well, but you have a habit of putting your foot in your mouth. Just let her work through it. She'll be fine."

Quentin tilts his head in concession of Julia's point. "All right, if you're sure," he hums. He presses a kiss to Julia's temple. "Let's go watch some trashy TV."

* * *

A couple days later, Margo stops by the bakery to pull Quentin away and out to lunch down the street. The place is a neat little bistro, tucked into a corner of the block that sees plenty of foot traffic. After they've gotten their food and have finally sat down, Quentin doesn't wait to hear why Margo brought him to lunch before he speaks. "I had dinner with Eliot the other night. And Josh."

"Eliot mentioned it," Margo admits. Her gaze is sharp with interest. "How did it go?"

”Good,” Quentin says. “It was good to catch up with both of them outside of work. Did you know that Eliot’s sober, now?”

"No," Margo says, the single syllable long and drawn out. "I did not know that. What the fuck?"

"That's... kinda what I thought," Quentin admits. "But it's true; he didn't use any of what Josh brought."

"Did he drink?" Margo demands.

"Nothing alcoholic."

"What the fuck," Margo says again. "This is huge."

"I know, right?" Quentin says, laughing incredulously. "I almost couldn't believe it, but..."

But Margo is frowning. "Why hasn't he told me?"

"I don't know," Quentin says helplessly, shrugging. "He didn't say anything to me until I told him Josh was there and getting his shit set up."

"He's been so weird since he got back," Margo says, shaking her head. "Maybe this explains it."

"Maybe. I mean, none of us ever really saw him completely sober," Quentin says thoughtfully. "Maybe... this is just what Eliot's like when he's sober? He didn't say anything about _why_ he was sober, but I also didn't want to push."

"Well, good," Margo says. "If this is what he needs, and he's happy, then why not?"

”Why not?” Quentin agrees, feeling better about things than he had before.

* * *

Quentin and Eliot continue texting, talking almost every day, and though they only see each other a few more times outside of the Hanson or Quentin’s bakery - Castle Sweets - it’s easy to fall back into their friendship. Quentin hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Eliot until Eliot was back, texting him at all times of the day(or night), answering Quentin when he texts Eliot with the most random questions and thoughts. 

They go on a couple of walks, mostly around Central Park, walking and talking, but mostly enjoying each other’s company, and Eliot comes over for dinner a couple more times, including once with Margo the night before Julia leaves. Eliot’s behavior stays just slightly more odd than it had been while they were at Brakebills, so Margo and Quentin feel confident in their conclusion that this is just who Eliot is when he’s sober. They still don’t talk much about the time that Eliot was in Philadelphia; he doesn’t seem eager to share any stories, and Quentin and Margo decide to respect that for now, in the hope that he’ll talk to them of his own accord soon.

Quentin gets back late almost a week later after seeing a movie with Eliot - it was nothing special, more of an excuse to spend some time together than anything else. The movie was unremarkable, perfectly enjoyable but not special, and Quentin and Eliot make their goodbyes at a bus stop, heading back to their respective homes. When Quentin gets back, he’s surprised by Alice in the living room. “Oh. Hey, I thought you had a meeting with Sunderland and Lipson tonight?”

"We got done early," Alice says, pushing her glasses further up her nose. "I wasn't sure when you'd be back, but I saved you some dinner."

"Oh, thanks," Quentin says with a smile. "Eliot and I went to a movie, so I had some popcorn, but I can eat. How did it go?"

"Fine," Alice says. She studies him for a moment, and then offers, "You're spending a lot of time with Eliot lately."

Quentin shrugs. "Catching up; I haven't seen him in five years."

"I know," Alice says. She smiles. "As long as you're happy, Quentin."

"I am, Vix," Quentin assures her. "He's not... exactly the Eliot I knew, but I like this Eliot, too."

Alice nods. "Go get something to eat," she says. "I was going to watch some TV before bed?"

Quentin makes an interested noise as he heads into the kitchen. "Anything interesting on?"

" _Mad Max_ ," Alice tells him. "The new one."

"The best one," Quentin laughs, rummaging through the fridge. "I'm always down to watch Tom Hardy and Charlize Theron kick ass."

* * *

Life continues on like that for the next few weeks. Quentin splits his time between his friends and his work, and if Eliot happens to get a disproportionate amount of the time dedicated to 'friends,' well... He lives with Alice, and Julia, Penny, and Kady are all hours away and busy with their own lives, and Margo is busy with her resort. She's planning _something,_ Quentin knows; Eliot had told him as much, and she's been acting almost the same as she had been while the Hanson was in its final stages. 

"She just sent me an official email with a catering request," Quentin adds, giving Julia a meaningful look. They're on their biweekly video call, which they've held religiously to since graduation. "A metric shit ton of biscuits and cookies, almost as many cupcakes, and several cakes in different flavors."

Julia's image freezes for a second, and her the first few words of her answer come too fast as it catches up. "Well, as long as she's paying you, why not?"

"Oh, she's paying," Quentin assures her. "It's just... Some of the requests are a little. Odd?"

"Odd like how?" Julia asks.

"Like, she wants the colors to be _very_ specific shades - I'm going to have to use magic to make sure they're uniform, and magic tends to screw with the cooking times when you use a lot of it. And she wants a hollow cake."

"Did she say what the event is? Or the theme?"

"No," Quentin says, rolling his eyes. "Something about it being a surprise and she doesn't want me figuring it out before she sends out the announcements."

"Weird," Julia says. "It sounds like whatever it is, you're involved, though. Are you going to do it?"

"Yeah, mostly because now I'm dying of curiosity," Quentin laughs. 

"Well, keep me posted," Julia says. "How's things with Eliot?"

"Good," Quentin says, smiling. "We've gone to a couple of movies, but honestly... We mostly just walk around the city. It's - It's really nice."

Julia raises an eyebrow. "Sounds romantic," she says.

Quentin flushes. "It - Maybe?" he says. "I don't know, though. I mean, he's only been back in New York for a few months."

"Q," Julia says. "Don't bullshit me."

Quenton blows out a breath, rakes the fingers of one hand through his hair. "I really don't know, Jules," he says. "I - I think I'd like it to be. But we haven't talked about that, and anytime anything even remotely related to dating or relationships comes up, Eliot changes the subject, even when it's not about us. So I've been trying not to think about it too much."

"Maybe he just needs time," Julia suggests. "Or maybe he's trying to give you time. I know it's been a year, but you are still living with Alice. Think about how that looks from the outside."

Quentin grumbles wordlessly under his breath for a moment. "Okay, you... may have a point. But I can't just _bring it up._ How the hell would that even work? 'Hey, El, so I know I'm still living with my ex girlfriend, and we haven't talked in five years, but I think I’m falling right back in love with you like it’s fucking second year all over again.' That would go over like a lead balloon."

Julia blows out a breath. "Are you sure?"

There's a long, stubborn silence before Quentin admits. "No. But I can't - I can't risk fucking this up, Jules. He's too important."

Julia softens. "I know," she says. "He always has been."

* * *

Julia’s words stay with Quentin, even though he doesn’t act on them; tries, in fact, _not_ to think about them whenever he’s with Eliot. It’s a bit of a lost cause, because trying not to think about something means that he ends up thinking about it anyway, but the point is, he doesn’t do anything, and he’s pretty sure that Eliot isn’t aware of his inner turmoil. So, while everything isn’t _fine,_ it’s also… not not-fine. 

Then, while Eliot is over for dinner and a movie that turned into two when Eliot remarked that he hadn’t ever seen the glorious trash that was _Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance,_ Alice comes home. It’s her apartment as well, of course, but - Well, Quentin had kind of forgotten that she was supposed to be home around nine after a meeting with Sunderland about some complex calculations for Circumstances that had honestly gone a little over Quentin’s head. As the door closes behind her and she calls out a greeting, Quentin abruptly remembers that Alice hasn’t seen Eliot at all since he came back to New York. 

”Hey, Alice,” he calls from the living room, craning his head over the back of the couch. “There’s leftovers in the kitchen; Eliot and I are watching _Spirit of Vengeance_ and making fun of Nicholas Cage.”

"Oh," Alice says, visibly startled as she appears in the doorway. "Hi Eliot."

Eliot gives her a wan smile. "Hi."

Alice fidgets. "Um. It's good to see you."

"You, too. How are you?"

"Fine." Alice tucks her hair behind her ear. "Good, even. I'm just going to-- Um." She makes a beeline for the kitchen.

Quentin worries his lower lip, glancing at Eliot. “Sorry, I - I forgot to mention you were coming over tonight.”

Eliot just shrugs. "It's fine."

Quentin hesitates for a moment. "You sure?"

Eliot smiles. "Of course."

Something about Eliot's response doesn't quite sit right with Quentin, but he lets it go with a nod, rather than push the issue; he's sure it's not that important. 

Alice stays in the kitchen for a while; Quentin can hear her moving around even over the sounds of the movie. Eventually, however, Quentin can't ignore the fact that he had a lot to drink today, and eventually has to pause the movie so he can take a bathroom break. When he comes back out, the sound of Alice's voice stops him just on the other side of the corner of the hall, out of sight. "So, you've been hanging out around here a lot, lately."

"I have," Eliot agrees, sounding pleasant enough. "Is that okay?"

Alice hums, and Quentin resists the urge to interrupt. "Maybe. Are you going to disappear on him again?"

"I don't intend to," Eliot tells her. "But I'm aware that might make things awkward between the two of you."

Quentin can practically _hear_ the raised eyebrow. "Oh? How so?"

"I know you've broken up, but there's clearly some kind of involvement between you."

"What makes you say that?"

"You're still living together," Eliot points out. "And you care about each other. You were together for years. And me being around is clearly an issue."

Quentin can practically imagine the pursed-lips expression on Alice's face in the silence that follows. "It's not a problem because I... see you as _competition._ Q is almost thirty, he can make his own decisions. But I _do_ care about him, and I'm worried about what might happen to him if you drop off the grid again. It really hurt him the first time you did that."

"I'm sure it did," Eliot allows. "I was hurt, too. But I really have no plans to leave New York."

"Well, good." There's a shuffling sound, like someone just stood up, and then Alice continues, "Have a good night, Eliot."

"You, too."

* * *

Neither Alice nor Eliot bring up their talk, and Quentin doesn't want to admit he'd eavesdropped on them, so it goes unacknowledged, even as Quentin and Eliot spend even more time together than ever before. It's more uncommon now for more than a day to go by without the two of them meeting up, even if just to hang out for an hour or so in Quentin's bakery or at Eliot's bar. 

The only hitch is that Quentin's started noticing more... irregularities, maybe? Just little things about Eliot's behavior that are starting to add up and make Quentin concerned. He doesn't have any idea how to broach the topic, though, especially when he has no idea _why_ Eliot may be acting strange - or even if he really is! So Quentin doesn't say anything, just makes a note whenever he thinks something weird happens.

Almost a month later, however, Quentin has no time to ponder the mystery that is Eliot's possibly-odd behavior; Margo's finally revealed the theme of event she'd asked him to cater, and he has to admit, he's intrigued. It's a murder mystery - magician style. She's going all-out, and dragging every one of her caterers and suppliers with her. In the last week leading up to the event, Quentin does little more than eat, sleep, and bake - he barely says hello to Alice when they pass each other in the kitchen.

All of their effort pays off, however, and Quentin can't help but be amazed by the decorators who have transformed the Hanson into a convincing medieval castle. He has to force himself to focus on making sure all of his goods make it to the dining room intact and unharmed rather than be distracted by the masterfully-crafted illusions. He blames the recent stress and the illusions for his distraction and why he doesn't realize that someone's heading his way until there's already arms around him - and okay, he _maybe_ yelps like a startled dog, but he was _distracted_ , and Julia is sneaky, it's not his fault he didn't realize she was coming up behind him.

"Jules!" he cries once his heartbeat isn't thundering in his ears anymore. "I didn't - You didn't say you were coming back to the States!"

"Surprise!" Julia cries, laughing. "Margo thought it was about time we all got together."

"All of us?" Quentin echoes, glancing over Julia's shoulder. His grin widens. "Hey, you two!"

"Don't get too excited, Coldwater, we're not here for you," Penny says, but he's smiling as he and Kady approach.

"Well, damn, way to keep my ego in check," Quentin laughs. When they're close enough, Quentin tugs them in for quick hugs as well. "Who are you here for, then?"

"Who do you think?" Kady asks, raising an eyebrow, a slight smirk quirking her lips. "Margo, of course."

Julia sticks her tongue out at them. "I'm here for you, obviously," Julia says. "Although when Margo said it was going to be a magical murder mystery weekend, I was pretty excited. Is it just us?"

"Alice should be here any minute, Margo is wandering around somewhere, and Eliot is making sure the bar's going to run smoothly," Quentin says. "Margo made him take the night off, apparently."

Julia scoffs. "Good luck with that," she says. "A drink sounds like a great idea, though."

Quentin laughs, wrapping an arm around Julia's waist and hugging her close. "Well, let's go get an order in before they’re busy with the dinner requests."

They find Eliot predictably at the bar, though for once he's on their side of it. "Hey," he says when he spots them, though he doesn't smile. "Margo will be glad you all made it."

"Where is she, anyway?" Quentin asks, glancing around. "I haven't seen her since I got here."

"Hell if I know," Eliot says with a careless shrug. "Maybe she's dead."

"What, like from the stress of running all this?" Kady asks. 

Eliot just shrugs again. "Sure."

Quentin and Julia exchange looks, but Eliot’s already distracted, so he doesn’t see, and by the time he’s finally semi-satisfied with the bar and ready to go sit down, they’ve put his behavior and words to the back of their minds. They find their table easily, and they’re just in time for the first course to be served. Josh went all-out for this dinner, and there’s nothing but compliments for the meal as it progresses. 

Alice joins them halfway through the second course, sliding into her seat with apologies that they all wave off. Conversation flows easily, all of them catching up on everything they’ve been up to all over the world since the last time they saw each other. That carries them through the main course - and Quentin doesn’t miss how Eliot barely offers any information about himself, only responds to direct questions - and into dessert.

Dessert is a lovely souffle, but nobody gets to enjoy more than half of their plate before Todd - Margo had hired him as an assistant after his stint as Dean Fogg’s biographer and because he was so damn eager to please that he actually got things right more often than anyone else, she’d admitted out of his earshot - runs into the dining room, grabs a microphone from the stage, and announces, “Attention, everyone! Our main event has begun: your hostess, Ms Margo Hanson, has been found _cursed_ in the garden!”

"Margo cursed herself?" Julia murmurs into Quentin's ear. She snorts. "Of course she did."

There are appropriate murmurs and gasps from every other table as Todd continues, detailing the official start of the murder mystery event as Quentin snickers. "She would, for authenticity," he agrees. "And the drama."

"Your goal this weekend is to lift the curse on your hostess," Todd concludes. "There are a few ways to do it, and the clues are scattered around the resort. Whoever cracks the spell will get their stay this weekend reimbursed and a voucher for each of our facilities."

Alice shifts uncomfortably. "Does that mean we should let the others win?" she asks.

"Oh, no, Margo told me she had alternate prizes for us," Quentin hastens to reassure her, keeping his voice down so only their table can hear. 

"Did she elaborate?" Kady asks.

"Equal value gift cards to some big stores around the city," Quentin says. "I wasn't really paying attention to the names, she told me while I was in the middle of icing a shit load of cupcakes."

Kady sits back, and downs the last of her free champagne. "Well, I'm in," she says. "Let's do it."

They’re the first group to leave the dining hall, and they talk strategy and guesses about the structure of the spell as they make their way to the lavish garden. They follow Todd’s directions and find Margo’s unconscious body laid out on a richly-decorated stone bench, sullen sparks of magic shimmering around her neck and wrists. “Wow,” Quentin says, vaguely impressed, as they draw near. “That’s a seriously heavy-duty spell.”

"I think I recognise it," Alice says, her brow furrowing. She looks up. "Todd? Do you know how to get her out of this?"

"Well, I know where are the clues are, but she actually blocked the full spell from my mind," Todd says. "Like, I could have all of the clues in front of me and not know what they mean together because the spell won't let me know."

Alice blinks. "That's... not great."

"Why isn't that great?" Penny asks, frowning. "She probably did that just to keep psychics from cheating."

Alice shoots him a dark look. "It's not great," she says, "because I'm pretty sure that if we don't break this spell in time, she won't wake up. Ever."

Quentin sucks in a sharp breath, glancing back at Margo's still form. "She - Even Margo wouldn't go _that_ far," he protests, but it lacks conviction. 

"She would," Eliot says, very softly. "She'd want to make it a more authentic experience. And she likes the drama."

"She does," Quentin agrees, even as he exchanges another concerned look with Julia and Alice. "Guess we'll have to make sure she doesn't take it too far this time."

* * *

They split into two groups, with Quentin, Alice, and Eliot heading for the main office, and Julia, Penny, and Kady making their way towards the housekeeping office. They aren't the only group to come up with that idea, and they have to work around several strangers. They find their own copies of the clues, however, and start following the trail. 

It leads them all over the resort, to hidden corners and some places that would be damn near impossible to reach if one of them wasn't a Traveler, and by the time the first twelve hours have passed, they're more than halfway through completing a counterspell. Quentin is more than a little reminded of the Trials, but the nostalgia and deja vu are thrown off by Eliot's increasing distance. 

Eventually, they end up back in one of their suites. "He doesn't seem... _right,_ " Quentin mutters to Julia as they bend over a book they'd found in the utility room detailing curse-related Circumstances. "He's not even a little bit worried about Margo."

"Maybe he's just confident," Julia says. "Margo would never actually put herself in danger. She must know we're going to figure it out."

"Yeah, but he should be a little more worried," Quentin frets. "A little more anxious, a little more - _involved,_ for Christ's sake. He hasn't don't anything unless someone asked him to all day."

Julia frowns. "What do you think it is?" she asks.

"I don't know," Quentin admits. "This - I've never seen him like this, Jules. I have no idea what could make him act like this, but I know it's not normal."

Julia's brow furrows in concern. "Well, we're almost done with this spell," she says. "Let's wake Margo up and then we can deal with Eliot."

Quentin nods, spares one last glance at Eliot across the room, and then makes himself focus on the task at hand. The next hour passes quietly, the two of them taking notes on their part as the others pore over their assigned books, and then - 

Then Eliot gets to his feet, moves across the room to get another sheet of paper, trips over the corner of the rug, and catches himself on the corner of the wall. Quentin watches it all happen as if in slow motion, and for a moment, he thinks the sound of shattering glass is just a crackling in his ears, the sound of one of Julia's test spells. Then, he sees the red mist drifting over Eliot's shoulder, close to Eliot's face, and he jumps to his feet, alarmed. "El?"

Eliot doesn't answer. He's too busy dragging in the longest, most ragged breath Quentin has ever heard, one hand braced against the wall, the other clutching uselessly at his chest. He half-turns towards them, but before Quentin can call his name out again his eyes are rolling back in his head, and he collapses to the floor.

" _Eliot!_ " Quentin cries, and though he was the farthest from Eliot, he reaches his prone form first, all but skidding to his knees as he reaches for Eliot's head, fingers checking for any injury. "Fuck, what the - What the hell was that?"

Alice is already at Quentin's side. "I don't know," she says, at the same time as Julia stoops to pick something up. "I've never seen anything like that before. Did he hit his head? Is he bleeding?"

Julia speaks before Quentin can answer. "Uhh, Q," she says. "I think I know why he's been acting so weird."

Quentin's got Eliot's head in his lap now, and his gaze lifts to meet Julia's; he can't see what she has in her hand from this angle. "What?"

Julia opens her palm and offers him the object she's holding. "It's a cork," she says - and Alice takes in a sharp breath.

"Oh my god," she says. "He's been bottling his emotions. Literally."

"What?" Quentin demands, even as Kady and Penny's eyes go wide. "You can - That's a real thing?"

"Yeah," Kady says, taking a few shaky steps towards them. "Hedges use it when they need a clear head for battle magic. But it's really dangerous. You're only supposed to use them for three hours at a time, but he's been with us for over twenty-four hours, right? And even with a reaction like that I'd say it's not the first time he's used one."

" _Shit,_ " Quentin breathes, has to close his eyes and physically brace himself against the wave of concern that hits him. "Fuck, okay - what do we do?"

"We need to get him on the bed," Kady says. She turns. "Penny, can you--?"

Penny nods, stepping forward and helping Quentin lift Eliot from the floor, the two of them taking him to the bed. They get him situated carefully, and once he's laid out Quentin steps back, has to stop himself from wringing his hands by clenching them into fists at his side. "What now? Is there anything we can do or do we just... wait for him to wake up?"

Kady just shrugs helplessly. "I guess," she says. "But I've never seen someone OD on their own emotions this hard. Who knows how long he's been abusing those bottles for? I have no idea how long he's going to take to wake up, or what state he'll be in when he does."

Silence descends over them for a long moment before Penny clears his throat. "He's not really in danger of dying, right?"

Quentin's gaze snaps to him. " _Penny._ "

Penny puts his hands up. "Look, all I'm saying is, Margo is about eighteen hours away from dying if someone doesn't solve this counter curse. We can't just abandon Eliot, I get that. And we won't. But he's not our biggest priority right now."

"Someone should stay with him," Kady adds. "We can use the room as a base and come back here if the rest of us need help with the game, but he really shouldn't be alone when he wakes up. People don't bottle their emotions because they're super stoked to be alive, and he's about to get hit with every single emotion he's been suppressing all at once."

"I'll stay," Quentin says immediately. 

"Are you sure, Q?" Julia asks. "This is going to be a lot."

"I'm sure," Quentin says, lifting his head to meet Julia's gaze. "You guys focus on solving Margo's curse, I'll stay with him."

"All right," Julia says. She still doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't argue. "If you need us for anything, just call, okay?"

"I will," Quentin promises, his attention already shifting to Eliot as he settles onto the side of the bed. "I promise."

* * *

The others pop in and out of the room as they need to or to just check on him throughout the rest of the evening, and when they feel they've made sufficient progress with Margo's counter-curse they come in one last time to say goodnight before they turn in. Quentin doesn't move from Eliot's side once, although there's no change in him at all. He and Alice agreed that if he still hasn't woken up by morning they should probably call a healer, but Alice seemed hopeful. Quentin wishes that his own hope wasn't waning more and more each passing hour, and resolves to watch over Eliot all night if he has to.

He must fall asleep at some point, though, because one moment he's watching the clock on his phone tick past two o'clock in the morning, and the next he's being jolted awake by a terrible scream. He doesn't look at the phone, doesn't do anything except shove himself upright, not bothering with the light as he immediately reaches towards Eliot, though he doesn’t touch him. "El," he says, far too quietly the first time. " _El!_ Eliot, you're alright, you're safe, it's just you and me here." Quentin wants, desperately, to reach out and take Eliot's hand, pull him into his lap, but that probably won't be helpful now.

Eliot is clawing his way upright, hands scrabbling at the air as he sucks in a desperate breath only to scream again. He doesn't even seem able to see Quentin as his scream dissolves into horrible sobs that shake his whole body like he's having a fit. "Oh god," he gasps, " _oh god_ , make it stop, _please_ make it stop."

"I can't," Quentin says, thinking _fuck it,_ and reaching for Eliot anyway. "I'm - El, the bottle broke, I can't do anything."

" _Please_ ," Eliot sobs, collapsing against Quentin. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't _mean to._ "

Quentin gathers Eliot into his arms, tucks his face into Quentin's shoulder and rubs one hand up his back. "I know, I know," he murmurs, more soothing nonsense than any attempt to really talk to Eliot. "I've got you, El, you're okay, it feels like shit, but I've got you, you're safe."

"No," Eliot moans, but he grips Quentin's shirt like his life depends on it

Quentin pulls him closer, shifts so that he's seated more securely on the bed now that Eliot's all but in his lap. "I've got you," he repeats, throttles back the helpless feeling in his chest as Eliot shakes against him. "I've got you, El."

Eliot doesn't speak for a long time after that. He shudders and cries in Quentin's arms for what feels like hours, but he doesn't find words again before the trembling finally eases and his breathing evens out. Quentin thinks he might have fallen asleep, or else just passed back out, but then Eliot's grip on his shirt tightens, and he draws in a rattling breath. "Just kill me," he croaks. He sounds exhausted. "Just AK me and get it over with, Q."

It takes Quentin a second to parse Eliot's meaning, and then he shakes his head, a barely-there movement as he slides his hand up Eliot's back, daring to let it slide up, higher, until he can run his fingers through Eliot's hair. "I'm not a Death Eater," he says, ignoring the flare of irrational annoyance he always gets whenever someone makes a Harry Potter reference to magic. "And I wouldn't do that to you, anyway, El."

"It'd be better than this," Eliot says, though he sounds resigned. "A mercy killing, really."

Quentin huffs something that could almost be a laugh if it weren't so sad. " _El,_ " he says, quiet. He swallows, lets his own hold on Eliot tighten. "I think Margo wouldn't give me the same courtesy when she found out."

Eliot just sighs and melts into him. "I don't want to feel like this anymore, Q," he mumbles. "I hate it."

Quentin makes a soothing, sympathetic noise. "Let's get you under the covers," he suggests quietly. "See if you can get some real sleep? Or we can just lie down."

Eliot sighs again, even more miserably this time, but he nods against Quentin's chest.

It takes some careful maneuvering to get the two of them under the covers when Eliot doesn't want to let go of Quentin and Quentin doesn't want to let go of Eliot, but eventually, they manage it. The room is still dark, and Quentin brings his hand back up to settle against the back of Eliot's head for a moment before he goes back to carding his fingers through Eliot's hair, hoping the repetitive movement is as soothing for Eliot as it is for Quentin. He wants to ask about the bottle, where Eliot learned about it, why he started using it - and why he's been _abusing_ it, but he doesn't, not yet, not when Eliot's still trembling finely in his arms. He settles instead for tucking Eliot under his chin and holding him close, making the occasional soothing noise or murmur when Eliot's breath hitches, and settles in for the long haul. 

* * *

Quentin doesn't know what time Eliot finally falls asleep, but he does know that it's just past dawn when there's a knock on the door. Quentin freezes, relaxing when Eliot doesn't so much as stir, and calls out just loudly enough to be heard, "Come in."

Of all people it's Kady who pops her head around the door. Her expression softens somewhat when her gaze falls on Eliot, impossibly young and vulnerable in sleep, and she closes the door quietly behind her. "How's the patient?" she asks.

"Rough," Quentin says quietly. "You were right, the emotions hit him hard when he woke up."

"What happened?"

"He woke up screaming," Quentin says, and has to clear his throat before he can continue. "Got him close, and he... Well." He nods in a short movement towards where Eliot is still pressed against him. "Hasn't moved since."

Kady nods. "This is going to be hard for you," she says, and it's not a question. "It'd be hard for anyone, but you especially. No one would blame you if you wanted to hand him over to someone else for the next shift."

"I know," Quentin sighs. "But I'm good. I swear. How's the counter spell coming?"

Kady sighs as well. "We should be done soon," she says. "There's plenty of time. But it's a pretty big co-op spell; we might need your help to cast it. Maybe his, too."

"He probably won't be in any state to cast something like that," Quentin muses. "But if you need me to, I'll help."

Kady fights hard to keep the concern off her face, but she doesn't quite manage it. "I'll let you know," she says. "Trust Margo to literally curse herself just to get us all to hang out."

Quentin can't help himself; he snorts and smiles. "That does sound like something she'd do."

Kady shakes her head. "We'll keep checking in," she promises. "Look after him."

Quentin's smile softens. "I will."

* * *

Julia drops in about an hour later with some breakfast. Eliot still hasn't so much as rolled over, so Quentin does his best to eat a bagel and some fruit one-handed and leaves the rest for when Eliot wakes up. They have a chat that's even more brief than the one he had with Kady before Julia bows out to keep working on the counter-spell, but she assures him they've got it in hand and that they won't call for him until the absolute last minute. And then it's just Quentin and Eliot again. The waiting game continues.

It's around noon when Eliot finally stirs. He shifts against Quentin and presses his face briefly into Quentin's chest before he pulls back to peer blearily up at him. "Hey," he mumbles, and then groans. "Oh god, I feel like death."

"I'm sure you do," Quentin says, sympathetic. "Last night was... pretty rough. There's some food here if you want it."

But Eliot pulls a face. "Ugh, not yet," he says. "What-- what happened?"

Quentin sighs. "We were working on the counterspell last night, and when you got up to get some more paper to write on, you tripped and fell into the wall. It broke the bottle, and you passed out."

Eliot closes his eyes. "The bottle broke?" he asks.

"Yeah," Quentin says quietly. "Julia recognized the seal on the cork."

"Right," Eliot says. "Fuck. Oh my god." He lets out a shaky breath, and in the next moment Quentin sees tears on his lashes.

"Hey," Quentin says, concerned, as he shifts, gets one arm more securely around Eliot so that he can reach up with his other hand, brush away the tears threatening to fall with his thumb. "Hey, El, you're - not okay, probably, but you're safe. It's just you and me here."

Eliot laughs. "You and me and the metric fuck-ton of emotions I've been suppressing for over a year," he says. "Fucking yay."

Quentin sucks in a breath. "That long?"

"That long," Eliot says. "My whole life is fucked, Quentin. As soon as I can get my hands on another bottle--"

"What?" Quentin startles, eyes widening as he shifts so he can get a better look at Eliot's face. "Why would you - _Why?_ "

Eliot shrugs. "What's the point?" he asks. "Life is a lot easier if you can't feel anything, Q, believe me."

" _El,_ " Quentin says, soft and pained. "What happened?"

"The biggest cliche," Eliot tells him. "I met a boy. His name was Mike, he was the first person I met other than my boss and my landlady in Philadelphia, and he was..." He cuts himself off with a wince, shaking his head. "No. I can't talk to you about this without wine."

"I don't have wine, but I have orange juice," Quentin offers. 

Eliot is too tired to put much effort into his pout. "Is it in a wine glass?"

"I can make a wine glass," Quentin says, shifting so he can use his hands to cast. He transfigures one of the glasses that Julia had brought up with the food, carefully pours some orange juice into it before he brings it closer. 

That actually gets Eliot to crack a smile, a real one, and it's only in this moment that Quentin realises how fake all the other smiles he's had from Eliot lately have been. He takes the glass and raises it to his lips, makes a show of rolling the juice around his mouth. "Ah," he sighs. "An excellent vintage."

Quentin chuckles, settling back on the bed. "I'm glad you approve."

Eliot takes another sip and sighs deeply. "He was perfect," he goes on. "A little uncultured, but nothing I couldn't curb. He was sweet and caring and he was super understanding about my whole farmboy origin story." He winces. "I thought I had everything I wanted. Fancy career, good friends, excellent wine, loving boyfriend. Should have known better, right?"

"What happened?" Quentin asks instead of trying to reassure Eliot that he deserved to be optimistic about his future. That's not going to help either of them right now. 

Eliot sighs again and swirls his orange juice around the glass. "He was in a cult," he says. "They all wanted to summon some kind of beast from another world? I'm a little hazy on the details, but he was a fucking psychopath. When I found out and made it clear that I wasn't interested in joining him, he turned on me." His hand shakes, and some of the juice spills out onto the white comforter. He doesn't even notice. "I killed him, Q."

Quentin lays his hand over Eliot's, helps steady the glass. "He tried to make you join by force, didn't he?"

"It doesn't even matter," Eliot says. "I fucking-- slit his throat, like some kind of monster."

"You are _not_ a monster for defending yourself, Eliot," Quentin says firmly. "You'd never kill - or even hurt - someone any other way."

Eliot doesn't argue, but Quentin suspects it's more because he doesn't have the strength than because he thinks Quentin's right. "Whatever," he says. "I still did it. And it still fucked me up."

Quentin hums quietly, runs his thumb over Eliot's. "I can see," he concedes. "And... I can also see how it's tempting to just. Not feel anything. But eventually, you have to." They lapse into a brief silence, and then Quentin takes a deep breath before asking, "Why didn't you call anyone?"

Eliot shakes his head. "Don't ask me that," he says. "We all went our separate ways after Brakebills. I chose to move to Philadelphia and start a new life with a psychotic boyfriend; I couldn't disrupt your lives just because mine went to shit."

" _Eliot._ You've always been our friend, you could've called at any time. I know you know that Margo would have been there in a heartbeat, and I wouldn't have been far behind her," Quentin says, ducking his head to catch Eliot's eye. "You didn't know he was a cultist, and the whole point of friends is to have someone to share the good times _and_ the shit times with."

Eliot just rolls his eyes. "Q, look around," he says. "Margo had to risk her own life just to get us all to--" He breaks off suddenly, and goes white as a sheet. "Oh my god, _Margo_."

"Hey, hey - she's alright, the others have the spell almost finished," Quentin hastens to assure Eliot. "We made the most progress out of everyone, and Kady and Julia both told me the spell is almost ready."

"Then we need to help," Eliot says, already pushing himself away from Quentin. "It's not going to be a small spell, even after they've figured it out. It'll need all of us to cast."

"Whoa, hey - You need to eat something, you haven't eaten since dinner last night," Quentin protests, reaching out to catch Eliot's wrist. 

"Margo could _die_ , Q."

"I _know,_ El," Quentin retorts. "But I trust the others to know what they're doing, and Julia said they'd come and get us when the spell was ready. You're not going to help Margo if you faint during the casting because of low blood sugar."

Eliot actually glares at him. "Fine," he says. "But as soon as I've eaten we're going to help."

It's the best that Quentin's going to get, and he knows it. "Okay," he sighs, releasing Eliot's wrist and trying to ignore how cold his side feels without Eliot there now. "Alright, we'll go find them after you eat."

* * *

Eliot doesn't eat as much as Quentin would like before they set off for the garden. Quentin had texted Julia, asked where they were and explained that Eliot was insisting on coming out to help, and she'd told him where to find them. Eliot's steps are unsteady around the room and down the first hallway, but by the time they reach the garden, he's no longer walking like Quentin might need to catch him at any moment. That doesn't stop Quentin from staying close, however, and he doesn't miss the looks Alice and Julia give him even as Julia speaks to Eliot. "We're just double-checking the Circumstances and that we all know which poppers to use," she says, giving Eliot a small smile. "Margo will be awake in less than an hour."

"Just point me where you need me," Eliot says with a weak smile. "Sorry for being out of action until now."

"You don't need to apologize," Alice says firmly. "And right now, we need you and Quentin over here." She directs the two of them to a spot next to Julia, where they complete a circle around Margo. 

Eliot takes his place, and glances nervously around the circle. "This is definitely going to work?"

"Yes," Julia says confidently. "We checked everything, Circumstances and all."

Eliot nods. "Then let's do it."

Of course, the spell isn't easy. It takes them two attempts before they even begin to get the hang of it, by which point Eliot is exhausted and struggling to hold himself upright. Quentin expresses the most concern, but even Alice and Kady suggest he take a break or bow out altogether. He refuses, though. Even if the spell wasn't purposefully hard enough to require all of them, this is _Bambi_. If he can't help save her he doesn't think he'll be able to live with himself.

They try one more time, and then they've got it: as long as they can hold it together, this last go will work. It takes everything Eliot has, physically and magically and emotionally, but the spell crests and falls and he knows in his bones that it's worked this time. He falls to his knees in the grass and weeps.

In the centre of their circle, as effortless and flawless as ever, Margo yawns and sits up. "Took you all fuckin' long enough," she says. "Were you trying to embarrass yourselves? I thought-- What the _fuck_ is wrong with Eliot?"

Quentin's on the grass next to Eliot, has his arms around Eliot's shoulders and pulled him in close as Alice steps in closer. "It's a long story," she murmurs. "We would've had the spell last night, but..." She sighs. "He's been bottling his emotions for a long time, and the bottle broke last night."

Margo's jaw drops. "With an _actual bottle?_ " she demands.

Alice nods. "I saw the seal myself," she says. 

Margo gets to her feet and stalks over to where Quentin is still curled around Eliot in the grass. "What the _shit_ , El?"

"Margo - " Julia starts, reaching out, but she's interrupted by Quentin. 

"Now is _not_ the time, Margo," he spits, head snapping up so that he can meet Margo's gaze. His own is fierce, protective, and his arms visibly tighten around Eliot's shoulders. "Seriously, don't."

Margo looks disgusted. "Excuse me, who died and made you his gatekeeper?" she asks. "Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?"

"Look, he told me why it all started, and it's not my story to tell right now, but you being pissed at him is _not_ helping," Quentin growls. "It was fuck-awful, what happened, and the last thing he needs is someone yelling at him like it's all his fault."

"Please," Eliot croaks, finally looking up. "Stop fighting. I can't take you two at each other's throats right now."

Margo doesn't quite soften at the sight of the tears on Eliot's face, but she does lower her voice. "All right," she says, "step aside, Q. It's my turn now."

Quentin looks briefly guilty, but he nods, giving Eliot one more squeeze before he moves aside, leaving Margo room to step up next to Eliot. Quentin moves to stand next to Julia, leaning into her when she wraps an arm around his waist. "We've all been working hard this weekend," Julia says. "Why don't we get something to eat and relax?"

"Great idea," Margo says. "I'll get Todd to let everyone know that the game is over, you guys can chill, and me and Eliot can work some shit out."

There's a general murmur of agreement, and Margo helps Eliot get shakily to his feet before they all head inside. They split into two groups, each going their separate ways, and Margo takes Eliot to the elevator, pushing the button for the top floor. She brings him to her own personal suite, hovers nearby as Eliot settles onto the bed. Margo clearly debates about whether to open a bottle of wine after she texts Todd, but settles on bringing over two cans of Lacroix instead. They settle onto the bed, and it takes only a little prodding to get Eliot to open up about the whole, truly 'fuck-awful,' story. 

Margo gets Eliot's head on her chest, her arms wrapped around him and her fingers carding through his hair as he lets everything out. By the time he's done, there's even tears in Margo's eyes, and she isn't still coming down from an emotion overdose. "Baby, you could've called me at _any_ time," she whispers, pressing her lips to the crown of Eliot's head. "I would've come down there in a heartbeat, beat that shithead for even trying to touch you, and brought you back here."

"Bambi, I killed him," Eliot whispers back.

"He would've killed you," Margo says fiercely. "He left you with no other choice, El."

Eliot sighs. "Maybe," he says. "But I still couldn't call you. I didn't know how to tell you, and I didn't want to get in the way or take you away from your own life. We were hardly speaking, Bambi; we were both so busy."

Margo frowns, clearly displeased with this logic, but she also doesn't have a rebuttal. "I would’ve made time for you," she insists, nails scratching lightly against Eliot's scalp. "But... That was part of why I called and asked you to come back." She sighs. "And why I arranged this weekend."

"I know," Eliot says. He leans into Margo's touch. "I was just too far gone by then to stop."

Margo sighs, shifting so she can press her lips to the top of Eliot's head. "Are you going to stop now?"

"I don't know," Eliot admits. "I think I want to, but..."

"But?" Margo encourages. 

Eliot shakes his head. "Most of the time, I don't want to feel," he says. "It's nice, just not giving a shit about anything. Everything is so much easier with the bottles."

Margo sighs. "I suppose. But the danger... It's an unnecessary risk, and you can't guarantee the new bottle won't break."

"I went over a year without breaking one," Eliot points out. "But I'm not saying I think it's _smart_ to start using them again. I just want to."

Margo blows out a breath, her fingers moving through Eliot's hair in a rhythmic motion. Neither of them speak for a long, long moment, and then, "What do you need, El?"

"I don't know," Eliot admits. "I've never actually beaten any of my addictions, Margo. I'm sober now but only because drugs and alcohol don't really work the same when you can't feel emotion. Withdrawal was horrible but I just didn't care." 

She makes a sympathetic noise, nails scritching lightly against his scalp. "Well, you _are_ sober now, at least from those, so that's one less thing to worry about. We just need to keep you from going back to the tiny bottle instead of the wine bottle."

Eliot sighs. "I'm sorry, Bambi," he whispers. "I didn't mean to let things get so bad."

"I know." Margo pauses, then drops a soft kiss to the top of Eliot's head. "Let's just focus on getting you to a better place."

* * *

The winners of the murder mystery weekend are announced with minimal fanfare, by Todd because Margo is still locked in her rooms with Eliot. Afterwards, everyone just sort of goes home. Quentin asks to see Eliot but Margo refuses, though she does promise to call him as soon as Eliot is up to having visitors.

There's not much to do after that except wait out the storm. Withdrawal from the bottles is much worse than withdrawal from the drugs and alcohol - at least, so Eliot tells her. Margo does her best to be supportive, to listen while Eliot shouts and cries and falls silent for hours on end, and to dig her heels in when he finally breaks and begs her to find another bottle. It's horrible. It's maybe the worst thing she's ever done. But they get through it. It takes about a week, but at last a morning comes when Eliot is just... Eliot. Exhausted and miserable and thinner even than he was to begin with, but still undeniably Eliot.

"You don't have to sit with me the whole time," he grumbles, not for the first time today, while Margo watches him eat a bowl of soup. "I'm not going to kill myself or try to pour my emotions down the toilet again."

Margo rolls her eyes. "I know I don't _have to,_ but I care about you, dickhead. You haven't been eating much, and frankly if I get another text from Quentin telling me to make sure that you eat and stay hydrated, _he's_ going to be the one cursed the next time I do an event like that."

Eliot raises his eyebrows. "Quentin's been texting you?"

"Yep," Margo says, popping the 'p.' "Every damn day."

"Oh," Eliot says, and looks back down at his soup.

"' _Oh_ '?" Margo echoes, lifting one eyebrow. "That's all you have to say? After the way he acted the last time we saw him? I thought he was going to try to literally bite my hand off, El."

"I don't know what you mean," Eliot says.

Margo very maturely mimics him under her breath. "He was wrapped around you like he was your own damn personal security blanket, El. What happened before you guys woke me up?"

Eliot shrugs. "He stayed with me, while I got over the initial emotion overload. He heard a lot of shit while I wasn't really in control of myself. I think he just felt protective."

"Oh, he _just_ felt protective, really?" The eyebrow climbs higher. "El, come on. I know you're smarter than that. He's halfway in love with you, just like he was at Brakebills."

Eliot scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous," he says. "Have you seen the way he looks at Alice? He's still hung up on her."

"He hasn’t been in love with Alice for years," Margo says bluntly. 

"Don't," Eliot says. "Please don't. I can't deal with that right now."

Margo looks like she's going to push the issue, but then she sighs, heavy and pointed. "Fine. But we _will_ be talking about this later. I watched you two cocks dance around each other for a whole year in school, I'm not doing that again."

"Trust me," Eliot says, "you won't have to."

Margo's clearly unconvinced, but she lets the matter drop. For now. 

* * *

It's another few days before Eliot feels up to any visitors, and Margo makes good on her promise to Quentin. He's the first one she texts an invitation to visit to, and she's not even surprised when he replies immediately. They text briefly, and when Eliot agrees to Quentin's visit the next day, they set it up. 

Eliot's still staying with Margo, the two of them reluctant to spend much more time apart than necessary, so when Quentin shows up, he has enough raspberry danishes for all three of them, as well as a half-dozen lemon and poppyseed bagels just for Eliot. Margo lets him in with a raised eyebrow, smirking when he blushes. He mutters something uncomplimentary under his breath that she chooses to ignore, before smiling at Eliot, already sitting in the kitchen nook. "Hey, El," he says, depositing his baked goods on the counter. "How are you feeling?"

Eliot sighs, considering his answer. "Better," he says. "Less like an open wound. How are you?"

"Busy," Quentin answers with a laugh, something almost unreadable in his gaze as he looks up at Eliot. "Just like after the grand opening."

Eliot gives him a small smile. "You should work with Margo more often," he says. "It'll be good for business."

"Probably, but it would also be a lot more stressful," Quentin sighs. "I'd need to find at _least_ one more baker; Josh and I are barely keeping up with orders as it is. Might even need to find someone just to run the counter, if our catering or online orders got any bigger."

"You'll work it out," Eliot says kindly. "You always do."

* * *

"For the last fucking time, Todd," Eliot growls, not even looking up from the virgin bloody Mary, three gin and tonics and two raspberry daiquiris he's trying to make. "Do you see the amount of people in this bar? Do you see how many people are waiting for drinks? I am well aware that you're too incompetent to fucking help me, but that means that I need you to get the fuck out of my face, Todd."

Todd blinks, clearly thrown, and opens his mouth to say something - only for Margo to appear at his side, hand resting on his elbow. "Todd, go help the concierge," she says, tone brooking no argument. "I'll take care of things here." Todd obviously knows better than to disobey, because he's gone as soon as Margo finishes speaking, and she turns to Eliot. "El, honey. I say this with all the love in the world, but _what the fuck_ is your problem?"

Eliot does look up then, and his eyes are wild. "Are you serious?" he demands. "The bar is crawling with people, they all want drinks, and I'm the only person in this place that seems to know how to make a goddamn G and T!"

" _Hey!_ " Margo snaps. "Don't yell at me, Waugh. You're the one who trained these people, you know they know how to make the fucking drinks. You need to either chill the fuck out, or _get_ the fuck out for the day so you can relax. You've been biting everyone's head off since the bar opened today, and that can't stand."

Eliot looks at Margo like she just slapped him. "You're right," he says, quieter than anything he's said for the last hour. "I-- I don't know what's wrong with me."

Margo takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment. "I think it's a little too soon for you to be working the bar," she says. "Too much, too fast."

Eliot looks around, mindful of the customers nearby, and ducks down closer to her. "Are you firing me?" he asks.

" _No,_ " Margo says firmly. "But I am telling you to take more time off, for everyone's sake - including yours. You're not ready to deal with all of this - " She gestures to the crowded bar, where the customers have turned their attention back to their drinks - "yet. When you're ready, you can come back. But you need more time, El."

Eliot wants to protest, but just the thought of turning back to the bar and that crowd of people makes panic start clawing its way back up his throat. Is this how Quentin feels every day? "All right," he says, "fine. I'm sorry, Bambi."

Margo's expression softens. "You don't need to apologize. Go take care of yourself, baby."

"Thank you," Eliot says, deeply sincere. He doesn't quite run from the bar, but it's a near thing.

* * *

Quentin is cleaning one of the display cases during the daily afternoon lull when the bell over the door chimes. He starts his spiel before he's fully straightened. "Hi, welcome to - " He blinks. "Eliot?"

"Hey, Q," Eliot says. He's smartly dressed as always, but his gaze is darting around the shop like he's a hunted animal. "Can we talk?"

"Of course," Quentin says, tucking his cleaning rag into his belt. "Come on, let's go into the office."

Eliot follows him, and doesn't relax once the door is closed behind them. "I came to see how you were handling all the extra business," he says, "but it's kind of dead out there, Q."

"It's the middle of the afternoon, it's usually dead now," Quentin says, shrugging. "It'll pick up in about an hour, when people start getting off work."

Eliot nods. "That's good," he says. "Any more big orders since Margo's weekend?"

"Some larger than usual, a few more places wanting catering for small events," Quentin says. His expression is shrewd as he studies Eliot. "You look kinda... frazzled?"

Eliot laughs. "Yeah," he says, "I guess. I was thinking..." He clears his throat, and straightens himself up a little. "How would you feel about an extra pair of hands on deck?"

Quentin blinks. "Well, you already know how to bake and work in a kitchen," he muses. "I wouldn't mind an extra pair of experienced hands."

Eliot grins. "Thank god," he says, "because I just quit Margo's place."

Quentin blinks again. "You - What?"

Eliot gives him a sheepish look. "I, um. I yelled at Todd? Which isn't all that out of character for me, granted, but it was... It was bad. Margo had to knock some sense into me kind of bad."

Quentin's eyes widen. "Oh. Well, if you think you're gonna yell at anyone, feel free to come hide out here or in the kitchen."

"Thanks," Eliot says. "I think--" He sighs. "I just, I'm good at my job. I am. But I spent so long doing it without any emotion, and... it's a lot. A change of pace will probably be good for me."

Quentin's expression softens with understanding. "Well, we get crazy busy sometimes, but if you're out front you can always tag me or Josh in so you can take a breather in the kitchen."

Eliot smiles. "Thanks, Q. I knew you'd get it."

* * *

Quentin shows Eliot the ropes that day, and by the next he's ready to work. He spends a few days working the counter, bowing out a couple of times during the busy periods for a breather in the office or the kitchen, and starts picking up recipes and techniques so that he can help out with the actual baking, too. He might not have proper training, but he's an excellent cook and a quick learner, and he's actually enjoying himself for the first time in a long time.

He isn't enjoying himself right now, though. "I quit," he announces as he lets himself into the kitchen. Quentin is already here, because he's a lunatic, and Eliot hates everything. "I'm going back to the Hanson. This is the wrong side to see five in the morning from."

Quentin snorts. "You're the one who said that you wanted to be more involved in the kitchen," he points out, amusement clear in his tone. 

"But it's so early," Eliot whines, like he hasn't already shed his coat and donned an apron. He pulls a face at Quentin and moves over to the sink to start washing his hands. "Where do you want me?"

Quentin doesn't answer for a moment, then he shakes his head. "Sorry, it is early. Um, here, let's get you working on the fruit for the danishes."

"Sure," Eliot says. He dries his hands off and comes over. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Quentin says a little too quickly, giving Eliot a smile. "I was just up late last night working on a new recipe."

"Sounds exciting," Eliot says. "What am I doing?"

"Mashing and cutting fruit, making the filling for the first batch of pastries," Quentin says, directing Eliot towards a bowl of fruit. "there's more in the fridge; I'm working on the dough right now."

"I think I can handle that," Eliot teases.

"Well then get chopping, Mr Confident," Quentin laughs. 

Eliot rolls his eyes but does as he's told, and the two of them settle into a rhythm together, working around each other in the large kitchen. It's nice, easy, even - until they're cleaning up the first batch of pastries which are currently baking, and Eliot bumps into Quentin when he turns without looking. "Hey!" Quentin says, clearly mockingly offended by the way his lips can't help but twitch into a small smile. "Watch where you're putting those limbs, Sasquatch."

"Fuck you," Eliot laughs. "You walked into me."

"Are you calling me _blind?_ " Quentin demands, putting his hands on his hips and affecting an indignant expression. 

"Yes," Eliot says. "You're blind as fuck, bitch."

" _Why you -_ " Quick as a flash, Quentin grabs a fistful of the flour used to knead the dough and smacks it against Eliot's chest. "Blind, my ass! Take that back, you bastard."

Eliot gapes at him - and then grabs a fistful for himself and throws it in Quentin's face. "Fucker!"

Quentin, however, just laughs in delight and grabs more. "You're in _my_ kitchen, Waugh," he says. "You really want to start this fight with me?"

"Yes," Eliot laughs. "You know what? I do. Come at me, Coldwater."

"You asked for it," Quentin says cheerfully - and then he launches his fistful of flour directly in Eliot's face. 

The ensuing flour fight is ridiculous, and they get flour _everywhere_. Luckily Quentin stayed behind last night to do a lot of the prep then, so they have time to clean up themselves and the kitchen while various cakes and pastries bake without screwing up the entire day's schedule. They keep teasing and laughing together as they work, though they're careful not to let it escalate into throwing ingredients again - but then Eliot catches Quentin looking at him while he's sweeping the floor. He smiles at him, a little quizzical. "What?"

"Nothing," Quentin says, though his own smile is far too soft. "It's just... It's good to see you laughing again."

Eliot doesn't blush, but he does look down, the curve of his mouth pleased. "I guess I haven't had reason to for a long time," he admits. He looks up. "Thanks, Q."

Quentin snorts, reaching out to bump his elbow against Eliot's. "No need to thank me. Come on, let's get the rest of this cleaned up before Josh comes in."

* * *

Eliot is curled up on Quentin's couch for the third night this week, Quentin sitting with his feet tucked up and his back resting against the opposite arm. They're watching a movie that they're not really paying attention to and sipping sparkling grape juice out of wine glasses. Eliot may have been sober for over a year now, a streak he has little interest in breaking, but now that he actually gives a shit about things again he enjoys the aesthetic. Quentin is nothing if not an indulgent sweetheart.

It's nice, this hanging out after hours thing. It's comfortable. Eliot did worry that things might change once he started working for Quentin, but nothing has. If anything, the only obstacle to them carrying on as normal has been Eliot himself. He's getting the hang of feeling emotions again, and it gets a little better each day, but there are still times when everything gets too much and Eliot is overwhelmed by the sheer volume of how much he feels. There have been multiple panic attacks, in and out of the bakery - but of course Quentin has been there to pull him out of them with soft words and absolutely no judgement at all. Really, is it any wonder that Eliot feels more at home here, bathed in the vaguely blue glow of the television, shooting the shit with Quentin over an overly-sugared, non-alcoholic beverage than in his own empty apartment?

Something clatters on the screen and Quentin turns to look at it, momentarily distracted from their conversation by the movie they're supposed to be watching, and Eliot takes the opportunity just to look at him, to think about how lovely he is, how lucky Eliot is to still have him in his life. He could almost imagine that this is his life, that he gets to spend all of his evenings here, tucked up close to this wonderful man. He comes back to reality with a bump when he hears a key in the door.

"I swear to God, if I have to read one more book by some stuffy old white man, I'm going to invent time travel and lead a revolution," Alice declares as she walks in the door, dropping her stuff onto the entryway table with a heavy _thump._

"I wouldn't mind a matriarchal society," Quentin muses as Alice comes into view. "You'd probably do a better job ruling the world than us white men have."

"I'll make sure to bring in women from every society," Alice mutters before sighing and massaging her temples. "Sorry, long day. What are we watching?"

"I don't even know at this point," Eliot admits. He's already halfway to his feet. "Here, sit down, I'll take the armchair."

"Oh, you don't - " Alice starts to protest, but when Eliot waves a hand at her, she shuts her mouth and comes around the couch, sitting down in the spot Eliot had just vacated. "Thank you," she says, to both Eliot and Quentin, who's offered her his mostly-full glass of sparkling grape juice. 

"It's nonalcoholic, but you need something to do with your hands," Quentin says knowingly, smiling when Alice sticks her tongue out at him but takes the glass anyway. 

She watches the rest of the movie, which turns out to be _Legally Blonde_ , with them, and Eliot keeps a covert eye on her and Quentin throughout. They don't move any closer to each other throughout the remaining hour on the movie, and in fact stay further apart than Eliot and Quentin had been while they pass idle commentary back and forth between them. It's interesting to watch, and completely different from any Quentin-and-Alice interaction he remembers from Brakebills, both before and after they got together. Eliot doesn't quite know what to make of it.

The movie ends and Alice actually suggests they watch the next one, to which Quentin and Eliot both agree. While Alice is navigating their various streaming services in search of the second movie, Quentin excuses himself for a bathroom break and Eliot decides they need another drink. He grabs a third glass for Quentin and is just opening another bottle of grape juice when Alice comes in behind him and heads for the fridge.

"Hey," Eliot says over his shoulder.

"Hey," Alice echoes with a small smile. "Didn’t get a chance to say it earlier, but it's good to see you again."

Eliot smiles back at her. "You too," he says. He goes back to pouring while Alice starts making herself something to eat, and then he just turns around and watches her for a moment. A very distant part of himself aches for a real drink, but the rest of himself feels calm enough, safe enough, to finally reach a conclusion. "You're not in love anymore."

Alice doesn't seem surprised by Eliot's observation, or the fact that he voiced it. "No, we aren't," she says easily. "We haven't been for years. I love him, and he loves me, but it's not romantic." She cuts a glance at Eliot, adds, "Not like the way you two love each other."

Eliot blinks. His heart rate picks up. "I don't--"

Alice's smile turns gentle. "It's all right, Eliot."

Eliot deflates a little. "It's early days," he decides. "We've got time."

"Of course," Alice chuckles. "Just... He's been happier, ever since you came back. _Really_ came back."

That comment might have made Eliot want to shrivel up and die a few weeks ago, but now Eliot ducks his head, his smile a little shy. "So have I," he says. "Q is responsible for most of that, though."

"Good," Alice says, satisfied. "Just don't be stupid about this, all right? I don't want to see either of you hurt. And yes, I'm going to tell Q not to be stupid about this, too."

Eliot laughs. "I'm stupid about most things," he confesses. "But I'll make a special effort for him."

Alice studies him intently for a moment before she nods. "You better; he deserves it."

* * *

Eliot thinks about that conversation a lot over the next few days - but it never seems quite the right time to do anything about it. He wants to - God, he wants to - but there's still so much for him to deal with, and he doesn't want to upset the balance of everything they've got going now. He just hopes that Alice doesn't think him cowardly.

Quentin next invites Eliot over after work exactly a week later. It's a Saturday night and Alice is away for work, so they've got the apartment to themselves - which means they can destroy the kitchen trying to cook an actual meal. Quentin is an excellent baker, but he's a sub-par cook, and although Eliot should be able to bring some actual skill and finesse to the table, he also can't really contain himself when Quentin starts making a mess. They laugh far too much through the prep, barely avoiding another food fight, and manage to pull everything together a lot later than they'd intended.

Ever the pragmatist, at least while sober, Eliot insists that they clean up while their pot of ramen does its thing on the stove. This, at least, they've got down to a fine art, and they move around each other effortlessly, wiping down surfaces and sweeping the floor while the room fills with delicious smells and idle chatter. It takes a few minutes, but when there comes a natural lull in their conversation, Eliot realises he's not going to get a better chance. He needs to be brave, braver than he's ever been before. He takes a breath.

"So, I arranged an appointment with a therapist for next week," he says. Baby steps.

Quentin looks up from where he's wiping down the counter. "Oh?" he asks, encouraging. 

"I can't keep living like this," Eliot says with a sigh. "The panic attacks are getting less, but they're not going to go away. And the therapist is a magician, so I won't need to lie or anything." He glances over his shoulder at Quentin. "Margo used her contacts at the Hanson to help me find her."

Quentin's expression is sympathetic, and he smiles. "Well, if she's Margo-approved, she's probably one of the best in the field," he reasons. "You nervous?"

Eliot laughs. "Fucking terrified," he admits, honest in a way he hasn't felt able to be with Margo, even while asking her to find him a therapist. "But what else is new?"

"I was terrified the first time I went to a therapist," Quentin confides, turning to lean one hip against the counter. "Even after ending up in the hospital, having to see a therapist just... seemed like admitting defeat, like I was giving up on trying to fix things myself. But I needed it, and it was hard. But worth it in the end."

Eliot smiles at him. "You're incredibly brave," he says. "I'm trying to take a few tips out of your book."

Quentin flushes, but he's still smiling as he ducks his head. "I think you're pretty brave, too," he says. "I mean, you're still here, still all of you. Fuck knows that takes a whole lot of bravery."

Eliot chuckles, and turns back to his sweeping. "Thanks, Q."

The conversation turns to lighter topics as they finish cleaning, and by the time they're done with that, the ramen is ready. They dish up and take their bowls to the living room, settling into their usual seats. Quentin tucks his toes under Eliot's thigh as Eliot starts flicking through Netflix. "I think I'm in the mood for _Mulan,_ " he muses. "That's still on Netflix, right?"

"It should be," Eliot agrees, and pulls up the search option so that he can find out. "All right. I hope you know I'm going to sing along to every song."

"And you think I won't?" Quentin laughs, settling in more comfortably. "Play it, Waugh."

They do, indeed, sing along to every song, as well as quote the most iconic lines. Eliot's imitation of Mushu's " _You missed! How could you miss he was three feet in front of you?!_ " has Quentin in stitches on the couch, grateful their bowls have already been set aside. They both groan at Shang's infamous awkward compliment, and then grin like loons when he interrupts Mulan's mother and grandmother to return Mulan's helmet. 

Quentin's not sure what makes him do it - maybe the easy, comfortable atmosphere, maybe the way Eliot's hand in curled around his ankle like that's where it belongs - but when Mulan's grandmother calls out, " _Would you like to stay forever?_ " in response to Mulan's invitation to dinner to Shang, Quentin turns to Eliot and takes a deep breath. "Well, would you?" he asks. 

Eliot goes still, and as he turns to look at Quentin an urgent thrum of _not ready, not ready_ passes through him. He laughs, soft and a little disbelieving. "What?"

"Would you like to stay forever?" Quentin asks, his mouth curved into a small smile. 

_Oh, fuck,_ Eliot thinks. Maybe he is ready. "Yeah," he says, a slow smile creeping over his face. "Yeah, I really would."

Quentin's smile widens. "You do realize I'm asking you to be _with_ me, right?" he asks, just the wrong side of teasing, worry just a little too evident to really hit the mark. "Like, I really fucking like you, El."

Eliot reaches out and touches Quentin's face. _Yeah_ , he thinks, as he leans in to press his lips to Quentin's in a soft, sweet kiss. _I'm ready._ "Ask me again," he murmurs.

"Will you stay forever?" Quentin murmurs, leaning into Eliot's touch. 

"Q," Eliot sighs, and strokes Quentin's cheek with his thumb. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."


End file.
